


Road Blocks

by GhostyPenguin



Category: Sons of Anarchy
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-02-06
Updated: 2014-02-07
Packaged: 2018-01-11 08:17:30
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,510
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1170788
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GhostyPenguin/pseuds/GhostyPenguin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>POST SOA CUTOFF. (Assuming all the characters mentioned survive until the final finale.) </p><p>She is of the wind. A free spirit. A damaged soul. He thinks he could fix her.</p><p>He is loyal. Kind. And too hard on himself. She's scared to break him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Broken Down

**Author's Note:**

> NOTE: I own nobody but Camryn.
> 
> Also, I am not sure what spurred this story...

This couldn’t be good. The clanging beneath the hood had worsened and become much more constant over the past hour. Now the car slowly sputtered to a stop on the side of the road. She tried turning the key over again, and the engine grunted and coughed, “Come on baby,” she cooed, rubbing the dash board, “You can’t fail me now… just a few more miles…”

After trying several times she gave up and got out of the ’64 Impala and looked under the hood. She pulled her hair into a pony tail ad leaned over the car. There was no obvious problems, “Shit,” she muttered. Now she would have to stay here even longer. She slammed the hood down and checked under the car. Nothing was leaking.

She opened the passenger door and dug her phone out of her purse. Just her luck, no service strong enough to use the internet and find a tow. “Son of a monkey bitch from hell!” she cursed, kicking the tire. “You choose now to crap out on me?”

She couldn’t have been more than seven miles from the next town. She grabbed the most important things from her purse and put them in a backpack with plenty of water. She was in California during the summer, and she knew how quickly she would get dehydrated.

She locked each door and made sure the windows were all rolled up before beginning her long walk down the road. 

She had been walking for about an hour, and in that time three cars passed. She wasn’t surprised, she never picked up hitch hikers. When she heard motorcycle engines she didn’t even bother to turn around. But the two bikers slowed down and came to a stop several paces ahead of her. She stopped, unwilling to go any further. She had hustled a couple of bikers the night before, although these ones had a different patch.

The first one got off his bike and she felt her back pocket for her knife. “You know,” he said, taking off his helmet. He was older than she was, about forty, with curly black hair and blue eyes, “You shouldn’t make snap judgments of people.”

“You’re not here to kill me?” she asked, letting her hand drop to her side.

“Why would we?” asked the first.

“Bikers haven’t always been my biggest fans,” she answered.

“Why, you a rat?” he asked, and the second approached them. He was a little shorter than the first, and he was her age with a Mohawk and tattoos on either side. “We stopped because we assumed you were the owner of that impala back there.”

“I am,” she answered, “I didn’t know any tow services in town so I figured I would walk.”

The older one paused for a moment, then almost sharply, “Right, because that makes perfect sense.”

“I take it you’re not from Charming,” the younger one said, “We called a tow, it’ll be here in about half an hour. You want a ride back?”

She was hesitant, “Ah- sure.”

“Cool, take Juice’s bitch, he’ll take you back and wait with you,” the other said, and she didn’t bother to say anything. She knew bikers and how they talked. The older one got on his bike and rode away.

“As you now know,” Juice said, “I am Juice.”

“You have a very strange mother,” she commented.

“It wasn’t my mom who gave me the name!” he laughed, handing her a helmet.

“I’m Camryn,” she said, putting the helmet on and climbing on the bike behind him. They were back at her car in a few minutes, and both were glad to escape the heat in the front seat with the air conditioning on. Juice flipped through her CD collection.

“This isn’t a bad collection Cam,” he said.

“That’s not even half of my original stuff,” she said, “But the rest is on cassette.”

Be smiled at her, it was a charming smile. After a while she cleared her throat, “So, this tow truck…” she began, “Will whatever garage it takes it to take good care of my car?”

“I’ll do the work personally,” he answered.

“You work there?”

“Yeah,” he replied, “Which is why you should give me your number.”

She raised an eyebrow at him. “So when the car is finished I can call you,” his grin was devilish.

“You smooth mother fucker,” Camryn said, but she wrote her number down and gave it to him anyways.

When the tow truck finally arrived, she met a man named Chibs who had a Scottish- or was it Irish? Accent. Then, she rode with him to a shop called Teller- Marrow. He didn’t talk on the drive in, except to answer her questions which were few and far in between.


	2. Damaged Goods

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Juice learns about the girls past, and Gemma tries to right an old wrong.
> 
> This one is short...

“Have any reservations in town?” Tig asked as she pulled her duffle bag out of the trunk of her car and tossed it in the back to the truck.

“I didn’t,” she answered, running a hand through her black hair, “But that bed and breakfast in town had an opening.”

“And what brings you to Charming?” asked Tig, taking a box out.

“I was just passing through,” she told him, “I was going to get lunch at the diner, then head up to Oregon.”

“What is in Oregon?” Tig asked, and she sighed. Juice guessed she wasn’t crazy about him digging into her personal life.

“A nice beach town,” she answered shortly, tossing her backpack in the truck and closing the impala’s trunk.

“I’m going to go get the keys,” he said, walking into the office. Gemma was standing at the window, watching everything.

“You alright?” he asked, taking the keys from their hook.

“Is that Camryn Clarke?” she asked, her arms crossed.  
“Yeah,” he answered, “How do you know her?”  
“I need you to find out what you can about her,” she ordered.  
“Okay…” he said leaving the office and returning to Tig and Cam.  
She climbed into the truck and Juice took the driver’s side. They made idle chatter as they drove the six miles to the bed and breakfast, and as much as he wanted to, Juice refrained from asking her questions. She didn’t seem very willing to answer them. He studied her out of the corner of his eye. She was a little shorter than he was, five inches at the least.

Her eyes were dark blue, and framed by long, dark lashes. At the moment, she was dressed in a dark blue tank top and plaid shirt and blue jeans. A practical girl. She didn’t have a supermodel body like the crow eaters tried to have, instead she was fairly average. Perhaps with slightly larger breast and hips.

They pulled up to the curb outside the bed and breakfast and she turned to him, “Thanks for the ride,” she said, “And the tow, and for working on my car…”

She closed the door and walking inside. He waited for her to get back. “Need help getting the stuff in?” he asked, and she nodded almost shyly.

He got out of the truck and locked the doors. Then he grabbed the box from the bed and followed her in. He needed to get information on her, and as wrong as it felt, he could get Gemma the number of the room she was staying in. He began to wonder why Gemma was interested, but he had issues of his own to worry about.

When he got back, Gemma had him do a background search.

“Anything come up?” she asked, standing over his shoulder an hour later.

“Well,” he began, “She’s from Charming, but when she was seventeen she left, and since then she has lived in fourteen different states, sixteen states. Never signed a contract that was for more than a month. Girls got some commitment issues.”

“So it was the Clarke girl,” Tig said, “I thought she looked familiar but I couldn’t remember her first name…”

“Who is the Clarke girl?” Juice asked.

“She worked here one summer,” Gemma said, “Then one day she showed up with a black eye. Said she ran into a door… eventually she broke down and admitted that her dad gave it to her. Then we helped her get out of town. Never thought she’d show up again.”

“She’s damaged goods, Juice,” Tig continued, “And I saw how you looked at her, so I’m warning you. Stay clear.”

Juice was not about to listen to Tig on this one.

~*~

The banging on the door pulled Camryn’s attention from her book. She set the mass production copy down and walked to the door. When she opened it, she found Gemma standing there.

“Pack your things, kid,” she said, “You’re not staying in this overpriced place.”

“And where am I staying?”

“At my house,” she said. Camryn had known enough about this woman to know that you did what she said.

"Are you sure?" she asked, and Gemma nodded.

"Why?"

"Because I was an idiot to think you would be fine after you left."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A lot of this story is out of boredom, so if you think it's cheesy or anything, forgive. 
> 
> And I apologize to those who notice the impala... Yes, there is one like it in Supernatural, BUT this one is based off my grandfather's (Which is blue... More details on the car to come.)


End file.
